(This article also published in the Oct-Dec 2024 issue of Rethink Magazine and in the 10/25/24 Wisdom Well blog by Chip Conley).

This past June, on the eve of my 55th birthday, I found myself visiting a park in Paris that I’d frequented often while studying abroad in my 21st year — 34 years prior. When setting off that morning, I simply thought I'd be taking a stroll down memory lane to visit the neighborhood I'd lived in and take some videos to share with my son who, now 21 himself, was commencing his own study abroad in Amsterdam.

Listening to Elton John's "Sartorial Eloquence," which I'd played repeatedly on my yellow Sony Walkman "back in the day,” I meandered through the Parc Monceau until a park bench compelled me to have a sit and ponder. I thought about my 21-year-old self with her permed hair and numerous insecurities. I remember clearly her struggles at the time with disillusionment over her college major, homesickness, heartbreak over an unfaithful boyfriend, and anxiety over what adult life would hold for her.

 I noticed an empty bench to my left and pictured her sitting there, serious and sad, swimming in these worries. I’ve learned in recent years of the power of removing time and space to reach ourselves at a time when we needed guidance and wisdom — with the possible effect of healing ourselves both backward and forward. From my vantage point 34 years hence, I considered what 21-year-old Kristin needed to hear from her older, wiser, more experienced self.

Sensing shame around her level of sensitivity, I tell her to embrace it; that it’s not a liability and that it will be one of her greatest gifts. I tell her it’s okay to not worry so much and that she doesn’t have to white-knuckle life. I tell her that things can and will go many different ways, and all of them are okay.

I tell her not to be afraid of the abysses knowing that she hates voids, wanting to avoid them rather than fall, float, or fly into them. I tell her she will meet and marry her soul mate and be mother to two incredible boys that she'll love more than she can imagine. I tell her pointedly that the “shoulds” in life are not absolute. I tell her that her seeking nature will be a steel thread in her life with the fruits unfolding and sustaining her when she needs it most.

I remind her to be the sun and not the salt. And to seek the sun and not the salt, meaning we have the choice to be the light, energy and positivity in our interactions or the negative toxicity (a reference to the book Be the Sun, Not the Salt, by Harry D. Cohen). I tell her to enjoy her slim figure and tight ass because they won't last. Mostly though, I want her to know that she will be okay. That choosing love over fear is safe.

I then happen to notice that there is also an empty park bench to my right. Yes girl, I think, we’re doing this. I do the math and realize that another 34 years hence would have my 89-year old self sitting there. My heart rate quickens, I take a deep breath, and let her materialize. I see a well-dressed elder with long white hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a small dog. She is peaceful, content. She turns to me and smiles, and I know she has some wisdom to share with me.

She takes her time. The first thing she says is, "It's never too late." She senses my concern that I haven't made enough impact. That I'm smack in midlife and believe I haven't made a deep enough mark with my time here. She wants me to lighten up and find the gentle middle way between letting things unfold as they will, and taking uncomfortable steps toward changing what is asking to change. She tells me that new vistas are waiting to be discovered. She tells me I still have much to do. To be. To give. To experience. She tells me to take care of my health so I can do these things.

She reminds me again to choose love over fear. To release trying to control outcomes. To watch energy fields with others and make sure I keep them clean, intact, and not bleed-ing into one other. She encourages me to find out who my spiritual jogging partners are in life and run the path with them.

 Mostly though, I notice her calm presence. Her knowing smile. Her satisfaction in looking back and seeing that the journey was just as it should have been with all of its colors, textures, rhythms, valleys, and peaks.

Fifty-five had felt like an uncomfortable age to hit. But with my 89-year-old perspective, I see that it’s merely a midway inflection point with loads of potential runway in front of it. With gratitude, I close my eyes and offer a birthday toast to my other selves across time.